


Fills and Ficlets

by erebones



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and kinkmeme fills. Always updating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kingsjoy (fem!Bilbo/Thorin)

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for bellsandbones, dropped in pieces into her inbox on tumblr. :)

“Oh gods, yes, don’t stop! Mmf!” 

Bilbo’s pleas were muffled by a strapping hand as Thorin covered her mouth, grinding deeper into the cradle of her hips. “You’re going to wake the whole Mountain,” he growled, voice reverberating right through her spine. 

“I hope to Durin I do,” she rasped back. “Then they’ll know who’s babe is in my belly!” 

He grinned fiercely, teeth scraping along the sweet hairless curve of her neck. “They already do, my halfling lass. And if they don’t, they will very soon.” His hand trailed down between her sweat-slick breasts to the round curve of her belly, and she arched beneath him with a groan.

She loved him when he was like this, hotter than dragon-fire as he plundered her more deeply and more beautifully than any dragon ever had, to Erebor or in ages past. Her fingers dug into his powerful shoulders like claws as orgasm ripped through her, tearing one more shriek from her throat. This one he didn’t seem to mind - he only thrust faster, until the shriek rose and was stamped out by the tightening of her vocal chords, and he followed her over the edge.

“By the Valar,” she sighed, sinking back into the covers as he slumped against her pregnant form. “I think our sex is better than it ever was before I became with child.” 

He hummed, voiceless for a moment as he stroked her round belly and swollen breasts. “Children are so rare among our kind, we find great joy in them.” His wicked smile sent her into paroxysms of laughter. 

“Then I shall endeavor to bear you many more, Thorin Oakenshield, and may our ‘joy’ be long and ever fruitful.” 


	2. Tenderness (Ori/Kili)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To go along with bellsandbones' glorious OriliK fanart: http://bellsandbones.tumblr.com/post/41013652411/kili-ori

“Mmmm. Yes, that’s nice.”

“Is… is it?”

“Mmmhmmmmm.” Kíli dragged his little snub of a nose up the generous arch of Ori’s, letting the drawn-out syllable rumble up from his chest and through the press of his lips. “Is it for you?”

“Y-yes,” Ori whispered back. He shifted slightly underneath his lover. “Just strange.”

Kíli muffled a giggle against Ori’s freckled cheek. “Why strange?”

“We’re naked,” the younger dwarf blurted, and blushed. “I mean, we haven’t – before, without clothes on.”

“An unfortunate necessity.” Kíli rubbed his chin luxuriantly against the sweeping arch of Ori’s throat, earning a strangled gasp and the staccato clawing of helpless fingers at his flanks.

“Kíli–”

“Yes, love?”

Ori’s face scrunched up, and he writhed under the welcome weight, lifting his knees until the soft insides of his thighs cupped Kíli’s hipbones hard between them. “Oh…”

“Better?” Kíli whispered, and laid a series of small, sucking kisses at the corner of Ori’s curled-up mouth.

“Yes,” Ori gasped, breathless. He drew his knees up high, nearly to his chest, only to be interrupted by the backward bent of Kíli’s elbows. Kíli huffed a strangled laugh and rocked forward, dark fringe hanging over Ori’s face like a swathe of curtain blocking out the sun. But above them were only the stars and the open sky, and beneath them the soft padding of a cushion and the smooth, cool stonework of a dwarven-made balcony. “Keep – keep doing that, please.”

Kíli groaned, low and heartfelt. “Your skin feels amazing. We should have done this sooner.”

Ori whimpered and buried his face in Kíli’s shoulder, pushing up against the delicious fullness. “I’m… I’m close.”

“Already?” Kíli’s hips found their way into a quicker rhythm, and he braced himself with his arms to hover above Ori’s body for better leverage. He panted against Ori’s flushed face, feeling the warmth of their bodies creeping through him. “I mean, me too.”

Ori grabbed at his own thighs, biting his lip against the sounds that battered at the backs of his teeth. “Kíli–”

“Yes…”

“Harder. Oh, please, give me  _more_ –”

Ori’s voice snapped off, clean as a broken branch, as Kíli growled and drove into the heat of his body: his orgasm gripped him by the back of the neck and shook him down to his bones. Somehow he kept silent, pressing his lips into Kíli’s sweaty shoulder, though he felt the pent-up shout was loud enough even in its silence to wake the whole Mountain.

Kíli slowed the tidal motion of his body, eyes pinned darkly to Ori’s face. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. With a whisper-soft touch, he dragged the pads of his fingers along the sweat-soaked line of Ori’s clavicle. For answer, Ori tightened every muscle, making Kíli go slightly cross-eyed.

“Don’t stop now,” he murmured, voice rough with a thousand suppressed cries. He tilted his hips, inviting. “Come on, love.”

Kíli tipped his head forward and screwed his face up, riding Ori’s submissive body until he found his own release. “Mahal help me,” he gasped, and collapsed, limbs weak and soft as he nestled against the scratchy-soft plume of Ori’s beard.

Calm and smooth, Ori ran his palms up and down the melted line of Kíli’s hard spine. “I love you.”

Kíli grunted and groaned out a reciprocation. With supreme effort, he lifted his face and matched his mouth to Ori’s, smile for smile with their noses just touching. 


	3. Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then one of the ponies took fright at nothing and bolted. He got into the river before they could catch him; and before they could get him out again, Fili and Kili were nearly drowned, and all the baggage that he carried was washed away off him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For buchananbarnes, ages late, who requested Thorin/Kili uncle/nephew feels.

“Uncle, you’re killing him!”

“It was not I who led him into the river.  _I_  am trying to save his life!”

Kíli cowered at the harsh words: harsher than he’d meant, but fear made brutes like stonemasons made bricks, easily and without thought or care. Thorin put aside his guilt for a later time and brought all his weight down on Fíli’s chest, once, twice, three times. He could feel the give of Fíli’s sternum under his broad palms, and it struck a horrible chill in his heart.

The evening had been wet enough already, when the boys plunged into the icy river without a second thought after the spooked pony. Ignoring their uncle’s shout to stop and let the damned beast go, they’d floundered and splashed in the swirling water, deceptively calm on its surface but with a deadly current running underneath. In the end, though the pony was recovered, the baggage upon its back was not, and Fíli had swallowed so much water he was little more than deadweight in his brother’s arms. Kíli had hauled him back onto the bank before collapsing at his side, where he remained as Thorin strove to bring the boy back from the brink of death.

Thorin bent down and pinched Fíli’s nose, bringing their mouths together and pushing air into his lungs. Another round of chest compressions, breathe, wait. Begin again. He was starting to tremble with strain when Fíli’s body heaved underneath him.

“Quick, turn him!” Thorin rasped. With the help of Kíli and Dwalin, they got Fíli onto his side, curled into a fetal position as the young dwarf gasped and choked, vomiting river water onto the wet grass.

Thorin laid a shaking hand on Fíli’s back, shoulders curving forward with the worst kind of relief. When he could breathe without wanting to throw up, he drew Kíli to him with his free hand, resting his palm on the dark, sodden head.

“I am sorry, Kíli. I spoke from fear.”

Kíli shook his head, clutching his uncle in return. “You are right. It was I who made to follow the pony, and he led the way even though he cannot swim. I am at fault.”

Thorin gave him a brisk shake. “You are _not_ at fault. You saved him more than I, for it was you who pulled him from the water. Had you not followed him, he would be lost to us. Foolish you may have been, but at fault you are not, and you are nobler for it.” He took his nephew’s thin face in between his hands, the stubble scraping wetly against his palms. “Do you understand me, Kíli?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Kíli whispered. His lower lip trembled, and he bit down on it to restrain himself. Thorin’s heart broke a little more, and he pulled the boy in close against his chest as though he were naught but a babe. There Kíli trembled and shook, fighting back the surge of emotion.

Beside them, Dwalin gave a cry. “He is stirring. Fíli, how do you fare?”

Kíli pulled away and scrambled to his brother’s side. Fíli sat up with their help, rubbing his throat. “Well enough, though it feels as if a herd of Oliphaunts were dancing on my chest.”

Balin clasped the snowy plume of his beard cheerfully. “Close enough – it was your uncle, restarting your heart. Saved your life, he did.”

Thorin sniffed aside the suspicious wetness in his eyes. “Thank your baby brother, Fíli. Your idiocy would have been poorly rewarded had he not jumped in after you.”

Kíli lifted wide brown eyes to his uncle, hands meeting fumblingly with his brother’s as Fíli reach for him. Thorin gave him a brisk nod and stood. It was high time they found some halfway decent shelter for the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was partly inspired/drawn from two works by kaciart on tumblr:
> 
> http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/40740581874 and http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/40318333552
> 
> I did switch which brother needed to be revived, since it fit better with the prompt.


	4. Silken Ties (Elrond/Glorfindel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel returns from the hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For kingbard, dropped ages ago into his inbox; he was good enough to email it to me for posterity! :)

"My lord." 

Elrond turns from the open balcony window, robes dragging slightly against the floor. “Glorfindel. You’ve returner sooner than I expected."

Glorfindel bows slightly, a faded smirk lingering in the corners of his well-formed mouth. “Nothing is ever unexpected to you, Lord Elrond." He crosses the room with long, confident strides until he stands before his liege-lord, and he lifts one pale hand to smooth a ruffled lock of Elrond’s hair against the placket of his robe. “Even this."

Elrond takes a breath and exhales, slow, eyes falling shut. “You smell like you’ve been hunting orc. Can’t you bathe before attempting to seduce me?"

Glorfindel’s downy-fine brows rise, and the smirk deepens. “Attempting? Have you so little faith in me?"

"I have faith in hot water and bath oils." Elrond smiles slightly and catches the wandering hand as it moves to his buttons. “You will find a bath prepared for you on the balcony."

The smirk falls into a soft ‘O’ of surprise. “You see? I was right. Never unexpected." Still, Glorfindel cannot resist leaning in close, making his slight half-inch height advantage more obvious, and running the tip of his arched nose along Elrond’s temple. “You look weary, my lord. Will you not join me?"

"I might be persuaded." Elrond steps away and onto the balcony, sheltered from wandering eyes by lush, fragrant wisteria clambering all over the slender pillars that hold up the roof. He unchains his outer robe, delicate, and drapes it over a bench. In his silvery under robe, he rolls up the sleeves and motions to his lover. “Off with your travel gear."

Glorfindel raises an eyebrow, smiling, but obeys. He disrobes slowly, belt and boots clinking as they are dropped to the stone. The pale, smooth skin of his throat and chest are bared by tantalizing increments, and by the time he steps out of his trousers and undergarments, a slight flush has risen to Elrond’s face. With smooth, swaying steps, Glorfindel moves to the generous copper bath and steps in, sinking with a low sigh of appreciation against the side. “My braids, if you would," he murmurs casually. There is only the slightest pause before Elrond kneels down behind him on the stone, fingers lifting to Glorfindel’s long, cornsilk hair. 

The braids are intricate and tightly-woven, and Elrond takes his time. At last each twist is let loose, cacsading down almost to the stonework in a white-blond waterfall. Elrond sinks his fingers into it and brings it to his nose, inhaling. Glorfindel makes a small noise of appreciation. “Take off your clothes now," he murmurs, “and get into the tub. Face me on your knees."

Elrond has fallen into the pattern of it now. He rises, graceful in spite of having knelt on hard stone for so long. Quickly, eager even in his restraint, he removes his clothing and sets aside his silver circlet before climbing into the tub. 

Glorfindel’s knees lift and separate to make room for him. Without being asked - their connection is so deep now that they can speak mind-to-mind, but Elrond knows him well enough to read the subtle expressions on Glorfindel’s face - Elrond lifts a slick bar of soap and begins to cleanse the sweat and grime from his lover’s body.

They both have many years behind them, and are slow to arouse, but they have been parted for many days and Elrond is restless. He shifts on his knees in the water, caressing the fine bones in Glorfindel’s ankles, and savors the slow burn in his veins, the heavy throb that begins low between his hips. Glorfindel, as ever, makes him wait. When he has contented himself with the length of his soak, he opens his arms and Elrond sinks into them with a sigh, nestling his nose into Glorfindel’s damp, fragrant neck like a child.

"What would you like?" Glorfindel murmurs, stroking the dark head. 

"Shouldn’t I be the one asking?" Elrond replies.

"Even though you already know?" The blond elf smiles, runs his fingers down the wet curve of Elrond’s back. “You are hiding from me - I cannot see your thoughts. Tell me."

Elrond is reluctant, but Glorfindel has infinite patience. They lay together until the water begins to grow tepid, and Elrond opens his mind just enough that Glorfindel will see what is weighing on his thoughts. 

"Indeed?" comes the whisper at his temple. “I did not think you enjoyed such things."

"I trust you," is the simple reply. Elrond lifts his head just enough to nose at the smooth underside of Glorfindel’s jaw, provoking a low, rumbling sound from the chest he lays upon. “You take care of me in every other way - why not this?"

Glorfindel hums and tips his face down for a slow, scorching kiss. “So be it."

Dried and bare as two babes, Glorfindel leads Elrond by the hand to the bedchamber and lays him out. He strokes over every inch of his liege-lord, laying whisper-soft touches with his fingertips and pressing gently with his knuckles until Elrond is soft and boneless against the voluptuous bedding. Then Glorfindel arises, moving about the room; when he returns, he bears a vial of clear liquid and soft silken strips of fabric. The first he rests playfully on Elrond’s stomach. The second he uses to tie his lover’s wrists loosely to the bedposts. He mounts the bed and presses Elrond’s legs carefully back until the elf lord is spread out and open for him, eyes dark and lidded, mouth parted slightly in a way that makes Glorfindel want to press inside and fuck those lips until they’re red and slick. But such abuses are for another day. This is their quiet time, their reunion.

He kisses each knee in turn, coaxes them further to rest against Elrond’s chest. Then he bends, hair falling in wet strands over Elrond’s thighs, and presses his mouth between his legs. Elrond shifts, whining; he pulls slightly on his bonds, but does not break them. He is a lovely rose-pink from cheeks to chest now, and his breath comes a little faster. Glorfindel opens him with lips and tongue, growling appreciation at the little mewling sounds that escape the great Elf Lord of Imladris. Then comes oil, sinking in three fingers one at a time and pressing in a slow rhythm, so slow that Elrond is gasping and liquid against the mattress, nearly mindless with the overwhelming pleasure of it, when Glorfindel finally sits up on his knees and pushes in in one easy slide.

"Oh," Elrond sighs. He clutches the silken ties, muscles bunching in his arms, as Glorfindel feels out an easy rocking pace. 

It’s good; in fact it’s very good. But Glorfindel is not quite perfectly content. Elrond is riding a slow wave of pleasure, but Glorfindel is a raging fire, burning from the inside out with the need to consume. He quickens his pace, hips slapping against Elrond’s thighs, and when no word is spoken to check him, he leans forward and braces his arm on the mattress for better leverage. The other hand he fists in Elrond’s hair, pulling until the long line of his throat is exposed.

"What do you think, my lord?" he whispers, long hair falling around Elrond’s flushed face. “Am I taking good care of you?"

"Yes," comes the breathless response. Elrond’s eyes open, blown nearly to black with the breadth of his pupils. “Don’t stop."

Just to irritate him, Glorfindel slows the quick motion of his hips into a tidal roll, dragging the head of his cock along the snug passage until Elrond is rolling his head against the pillows in frustration. “I’ll stop if I wish, and I’ll come if I wish. Are you to spend yet, my lord?"

"No." Elrond swallows hard, fighting to push back against him, but he is too well-pinned. “Only when you say."

Glorfindel turns his wrist, strokes the sweaty side of Elrond’s face. “Good."

Like a bird of prey striking, he snaps his hips forward, driving a cry from Elrond’s throat. The fire blazes. He bends low, fucking into him relentlessly, as he bites and mouths at Elrond’s throat. His fingers tighten in the sleek dark hair as he finds release, shoving hard into the willing body below him until he is spent.

"There," Glorfindel sighs at last, licking a soothing stripe up the red marks he left behind. “So very good for me." He withdraws, sitting back on his heels, and takes Elrond into his hand. He strokes only twice before Elrond is arching nearly off the bed, biting his lower lip hard as he comes all over his belly.

"What a pretty picture you make," Glorfindel murmurs appreciatively. When Elrond has recovered his breath, he wipes him down with a cloth and stretches out beside him, pillowing his head on his lord’s chest.

Elrond grumbles under his breath, shifting. “Are you going to untie me?"

"Hmm." Glorfindel pretends to consider this, fingers stroking along the damp ends of Elrond’s hair that lie against his breastbone. “No, I don’t think so." He darts up for a smirking kiss at the corner of Elrond’s reddened mouth. “Not quite yet."


	5. Beauty and the Beast (fem!Bilbo/Smaug)

Briar Baggins was always a bit of a changeling-child. Her parents were aged by the time she came along, and folk said she was the product of witchcraft and faerie-dust, a boon granted on the poor barren Bagginses by some mysterious Other; Gandalf, perhaps, or even Yavanna herself. Regardless, Briar grew up a bit of a wild thing, hair uncombed, clothes torn and muddied, eyes always sparkling with mischief. When she ran off to the far ends of the earth with a pack of dwarves, no one was really surprised.   
  
But she surprised even herself when she managed to charm an Ages-old dragon out of his lonesome, bitter hibernation. Fed up with the fickle natures and one-track-minds of certain dwarves, she sweet-talked her way into a trade: the Arkenstone for herself. As long as she was allowed to visit the Shire once a year, she was Smaug’s for as long as she lived, and her companions would be allowed to walk free. Frankly, the dragon was more than an excellent match for her wits and wildness. He was pleased by her quick mind, sharp humor, and kindly nature, and he was tired of being alone. So Smaug gained himself a bride.  
  
Now she lives in what was once called Erebor, the cunning consort of a firedrake. Her feral nature has come to the fore: she has cultivated forests and gardens on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain; she wears her hair long and unbound, woven through with blossoms and living twists of vine and branch; she runs naked through the winding halls of Erebor in summer, and bundles herself cozily in furs before the immense heat of her husband in the winter. Outside, Dale has been rebuilt, but no one ventures into the Mountain. A vast thicket of wicked-thorned briars has grown up around the roots of Erebor: benign, bearing fruits and flowers of every shape and size, but impassable. In time the townsfolk pass legends back and forth in the firelight of a wild lass with flowers in her hair and stars in her eyes who journeyed from the West to tame a dragon. They call her Yavanna’s Daughter, the Briar Rose - and, when they are feeling particularly fanciful, Beauty. (Smaug, of course, is only ever “Beast”).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> submitted originally to smaugbilbo on tumblr


End file.
